


Clocking Change

by bob2ff, pinecone



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Romance, light humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bob2ff/pseuds/bob2ff, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinecone/pseuds/pinecone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no easy way to reunite with someone who has been changed by the passage of time, as Nijimura and Akashi find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The air was clean and crisp. It had that sterile airport smell, as though the floors had been scrubbed too hard with a strong detergent. Truth be told, it probably smelt like any other airport. To Nijimura, however, it was familiar. It represented something more. A place in time, from a different world than the one he lived now.

Nijimura wasn’t sentimental. Yet when he walked the shiny, tiled floors of Narita Airport, images of a previous life flitted in his sight. It was almost like he had been split in two. One part still living that old life, the other having progressed so far, it was becoming unrecognisable. This other part had experienced L.A. This other part had experienced hardship, frustration, anger.

In L.A., his father had gone through a risky operation. A surgery to treat congestive heart failure. During that time, Nijimura readily shouldered the additional responsibilities. He handled the taxes. He took on part-time jobs. He paid for his siblings’ school fees. He paid for his own school fees. Eventually, all those responsibilities melded together into one giant metal load, that took root somewhere between his neck and shoulders.  

The surgery thankfully had minimal difficulties. His father generally wasn’t of good health, but he had recovered well. Several months of recuperation with physical therapy later and he was discharged. Their family was united, for good. They could return to Tokyo. They could live like they used to in the past, were the doctor’s optimistic words.

Reality was more pessimistic. Scars on the skin would fade away, eventually, but scars on the soul could never. Nijimura had been changed from the experience, for good.

But now that he was back in Tokyo, it was like he had been given the choice— the _chance_ to revert. Nijimura knew, though. There wasn’t actually any choice, or chance. It was a lie. The old part of him had long gone. It had disappeared, like strands of time flowing in a linear path.

After several hours of moving and settling into his new flat in central Tokyo, the first place Nijimura went to was a convenience store. How could he not? His Teikou days had been dominated by the sweet taste of popsicles, the electronic beeps that signaled entry into the store. Even if he couldn’t go back to that time, he could, at least, do this same action. Small comforts were things like these. Constants that remain as they are, even through time’s mutability.

Nijimura headed straight for the fridge selling popsicles. Reaching into the frigid compartment, he accorded the magazine stand next to it with a cursory glance. And he froze.

The magazine placed right in front was _Basketball Monthly._ On the covers were the very familiar heterochromatic eyes of his junior. What was he doing there? Popsicle forgotten, Nijimura reached for the magazine instead.

In bright letters, the words ‘ _Interhigh Champions!!’_ were emblazoned across the cover. Nijimura recognised the Uncrowned Kings, pictured beneath the letters. They were standing behind Akashi, almost deferentially.

Nijimura looked into Akashi’s eyes once more. The look of authority exuded effortlessly from his eyes, even on paper. He had been the right choice, Nijimura thought grimly. The best choice, to succeed me.

He bought the magazine instead.

So Akashi was in Rakuzan now, thought Nijimura on his way back to his new place. It was expected, of course. Rakuzan was perhaps the best sports school in the country. They had approached Nijimura himself, upon graduation from Teikou. He couldn’t accept their offer because he had leave for L.A. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t have chosen to go there, even if he had the choice. The three years in Teikou upholding that ridiculous motto had been enough. From what he heard, it was the same in Rakuzan. He now knew there were more important things than victory to worry about.

Nijimura had chosen a school near his new place. That was enough, for Nijimura. His only criterion for a school was to be close to his family. The school was also convenient. It allowed him to join halfway through the school year.

Since it was the summer holidays, however, it wouldn’t hurt for him to re-forge his lost connections. He had changed, a lot. But one thing hadn’t changed. He still cared about the people he had left behind, here, in Japan. Especially his idiotic juniors.

Nijimura finally reached his new flat. He entered his room straightaway, to power up his laptop. One of the first people he would visit was obvious. Akashi, of course. He had to congratulate him for winning the Interhigh, in his first year in high school.

As his laptop screen lit up, Nijimura couldn’t suppress a grin. He had some contact details to look for.

***

Akashi was just leaving the gym when he received the phone call.

It had been a hard, grueling practice session. Normal, by Rakuzan standards. Akashi had been annoyed, though. It seemed like his teammates weren’t practising like they usually would. They were listless, performing each training set as though the motions were merely something quotidian, like picking between vegetables in a supermarket.

“Oh, relax, Akashi,” Hayama had made the mistake of saying. “We _just_ won the Interhigh, like, last week. We featured on the front cover of _Basketball Monthly_!”

Then Nebuya had joined in. “Er…yeah, Akashi. I mean, it’s not like we’re not practising _,_ we _are,_ it’s just that we’re relaxing very _slightly_ in celebration for being celebrities now —”

“If something so simple and frivolous like magazine coverage demotivates you already, perhaps all of you have no right being on the team,” Akashi had cut in at that point.  

Everyone fell silent at once. Mayuzumi had rolled his eyes while Mibuchi had slapped both Nebuya and Hayama on the shoulders. But the damage had already been done. Akashi felt irritation for the rest of the practice. It crawled under his skin like a snake made of needles.

So when Akashi picked up his phone, he said in curt tones, “What.”

“Whoa, there. Tone down the bite, won’t you?” came the sardonic reply.

Akashi blinked. That voice. Immediately, a time he could barely remember knocked around in his mind like a trapped insect. Suddenly he wanted to speak in softer, polite tones.

That was a ridiculous notion. Akashi narrowed his eyes and said, “Shuuzou?”

“So you’re calling me ‘Shuuzou’ now? What happened to being respectful to your senpai, huh, Akashi?”  

“Apologies.” Akashi cleared his throat. “I was merely surprised, Nijimura-senpai. I never expected to hear your voice.”

“Yeah…I just arrived in Tokyo earlier this week. I had to go through a lot of shit just to get your number. Who knew the most famous basketball player in Japan was so hard to trace? Even your friends don’t have your mobile number. What do you give them, your personal assistant’s number?”

Yet another quip. The past and its memories battered Akashi’s head like a bird trapped in a small box.

Akashi smiled. “I find it an inconvenience to have people contact me liberally on my mobile phone, senpai. Hence, few people have this number.”

“Then I’m honoured I now have it. Hell, I _should_ have it. You’d better not find me an inconvenience, Akashi.”

Akashi wasn’t sure what to say to that. “…Why did you contact me, senpai?”

“Do you really have to ask why?” He sounded incredulous. “I just arrived in Tokyo after being in L.A. for over a year. Of course I’ll contact you. Especially after hearing the good news.”

“…Good news?”

“Shit, why are you so slow, Akashi? You won the Interhigh! The news is on every basketball magazine.”

“Oh. That was expected, senpai.”

Akashi heard a scoff on the other end. “Expected or not, it’s still awesome. So anyway, I’m thinking of heading to Kyoto this weekend. To properly celebrate with you, you know? Do you have time for me? Oh yeah, scratch that, I probably would have to crash with you too. So do you have both the space _and_ the time for me?”

All of a sudden, Akashi’s mind went still. The battering stopped. Instead, wrestling started. It was like he was being spun about by a strange, centrifugal force. His reflexive reply was a no. He had basketball practice all weekend, he wanted to say. But something stronger than his reflexes stopped that statement from coming out of his mouth. That something felt like a bright, white glow, intense like a laser.

He couldn’t have predicted what he had said, instead. “Of course, senpai. For you, I always do.”


	2. Chapter 2

The day Akashi was supposed to meet Nijimura soon came. It had been easy to get out of basketball practice. Aside from some slightly annoying statements (“You’re seeing someone, Akashi?! _You_? Seeing someone? In, like, a _date_ setting?!” from Hayama), he barely had any difficulties. After directing a glare at his teammates — shutting Hayama up immediately — he was free to go off to Kyoto station. 

Sunlight glimmered off the metal surfaces of the station building, making Akashi squint slightly. The sky was cloudless. Strangely, Akashi wanted clouds. Something to do with the way he was feeling now. The clouds circumvented the sun’s rays. Somehow, Akashi thought they could do the same, for him, too. They could perhaps suppress his urge to worry the buttons on his Ralph Lauren polo shirt. 

Nijimura was wearing a wide grin and a backpack when he saw him. He looked like he used to in Teikou, except for a few minor differences. His jaw had achieved a sharp, angular aspect. His eyes had narrowed in shape, intense and distinct like a predator’s. And his lips, more noticeable in his current grin, were now fuller, their contours more striking. Observing all of this did nothing to assuage Akashi’s urge. 

“Hey Akashi!” was Nijimura’s cheerful greeting. He punched Akashi on the shoulder. “And hey, congratulations on winning the Interhigh! Great job.”

“Good morning, Nijimura-senpai.” Akashi made to smile. “And I thank you for your kind compliment.”

Nijimura narrowed his eyes. Then he leaned in, peering at Akashi’s face. His face, suddenly so close to Akashi’s, made him blink. Akashi could see every dark eyelash, trim and neat like a fine comb, and the refined shape of his lips, set in a countenance of curiosity. 

Akashi wanted to pull back. He didn’t like how he couldn’t tear his gaze away. But doing that would be a sign of weakness.

Then Nijimura flicked his forehead. This time, Akashi did reel.

He widened his eyes, lifting a hand to rub his forehead. “Nijimura-senpai. That was uncalled for.” 

“Stop questioning your senpai,” replied Nijimura, rolling his eyes. “Your smile was weird. So I did that.”

“How does such a reason even justify that action?”

“There.” Nijimura smirked. “You’re being more genuine now. I prefer your irritation _much_ more than that awfully weird smile.”

Akashi was speechless, for the first time in a long while.

“Now come on!” said Nijimura impatiently. “I want you to bring me to all your favourite spots in Kyoto.” He strode off. 

Akashi only looked, nonplussed, at his retreating back. Favourite spots? All he could do was follow that broad back. Just like he used to do in Teikou. His mind started going through possible places in Kyoto, flipping through his memories like a projector. For some reason, none of them seemed good enough. Strange. He had never thought of the adequacy (or inadequacy) of his Kyoto haunts before.    

The first place Akashi took Nijimura was a fitness equipment store. Akashi walked around the store like he owned it, pointing out the various equipments.

“This is a speed chute which Rakuzan didn’t have before. Now we do, because I pinpointed that deficiency and corrected it. Ah, that one is an agility ladder, the latest model by SKLZ, used even by NBA-level basketball players. Rakuzan had one, but it was made by a company I had never heard of before. So I made the decision to change to this one— senpai?”

Akashi suddenly realised that he had left Nijimura several metres behind him. Frowning, he backtracked his steps. He found Nijimura leaning onto a treadmill, yawning. 

“Senpai. Is there a problem?” Akashi, somehow, found it difficult to keep his tone even.

Nijimura glanced at Akashi sideways. “Yeah. This is really boring, Akashi.”

“Boring? Senpai, you wanted me to take you to places I frequent. This is one of them. As Rakuzan’s captain, I have to constantly be on alert for the latest equipment which can improve our basketball team’s skills.”

“Yeah, I understand that.” Nijimura fought off another yawn. “Now that I’ve seen this, though, can’t you bring me to somewhere...I don’t know. That doesn’t have anything to do with basketball? Somewhere you like to go that’s unrelated to your duties as captain, maybe.”

Akashi felt like Nijimura had just ordered him to fly to the moon. Wasn’t basketball something they had in common? This store should have been endlessly interesting for Nijimura. He captained Teikou’s team, he would have had to perform this responsibility as well. 

Akashi smiled. At the sight, however, a furrow appeared on Nijimura’s forehead. “Alright, senpai,” said Akashi. “There is a place, similar to which you have described, that I have in mind.” 

Akashi walked out of the store, expecting Nijimura to follow. He took Nijimura to a bookstore next.

“Look, Nijimura-senpai.” Akashi gestured to a shelf. “The shogi strategy books are here. I come to this store to peruse these books.”

“Ah, that’s right.” Nijimura smirked, picking a book up. “You used to be obsessed with shogi. How’s that going, then?” 

“Very well, senpai. I have even discovered a use for shogi beyond mere entertainment.” Akashi indicated the shelf next to the one filled with shogi books. “These are books on basketball strategies. At my recommendation, this bookstore placed the shelves beside one another. For my ease of perusal, I’m sure you understand. When I access this bookstore, I browse both the shogi and the basketball books. I am able to compare the strategies in both, using shogi to complexify basketball strategies when necessary.”

Nijimura fell silent. “...I see,” he said after a pause. He placed the shogi book back on the shelf. Then he turned towards the exit of the store.

“Come on, Akashi!” His voice sounded unnaturally loud. “Let’s go to lunch! I’m starving.” 

Akashi frowned at his back. Nijimura’s reaction was unexpected. Akashi had just demonstrated his innovativeness as a basketball captain. He deserved, at the very least, any form of praise from his former captain. 

“...Fine, senpai.”

They walked through the streets of Gion in silence. The prickling sensation was under Akashi’s skin again. The shouts of vendors from their shops floated into his ears like half-formed whispers from incorporeal spectres. The stones on the path in front of him seemed too coarse all of a sudden.

Nijimura grabbed his elbow as they passed a restaurant. His touch was like a flame from a candle: small, yet comfortingly warm. Akashi stopped walking. His insides were being pulled apart like a wishbone split in two. He wanted to wrench his arm away. He wanted to maintain their contact, to grab Nijimura’s arm himself. An odd dichotomy, thought Akashi.

“Look,” Nijimura said, puncturing his thoughts. “This restaurant is apparently famous for their tofu soup.” He glanced at Akashi. “You still like it...don’t you?” The question drifted languidly into the air, unsure and hesitant.     

Akashi nodded, slowly. He walked into the restaurant. Nijimura’s touch on his elbow went away.

Once seated opposite one another, a waiter came to take their orders. Then he left. Silence descended on both of them, like a stranger showing up unannounced in their homes. 

Nijimura cleared his throat. “You should take me to your favourite tofu soup restaurant one of these days — ” 

“I can’t discern you, senpai.” The statement came blurting out of Akashi, unexpected like a balloon popping. “You don’t seem to be interested in basketball in the slightest. Why is that?” 

Nijimura blinked. “...I _am_ interested in it. I still play it for fun, occasionally.”

“I beg to differ. You have clearly been displeased by all the places I have taken you thus far. And I can conceive that it’s because I have mentioned basketball.”

“It’s not because you mentioned basketball.” There was a crease in Nijimura’s forehead now, deep like a crack in dry earth. “I just wanted to see your life beyond basketball.”

“I am currently Rakuzan’s captain. Hence in every instance of my life I try to uphold this duty. That’s what I’m trying to show you, senpai. I’m demonstrating my capabilities as captain. But this displeases you.”

A vein bulged in Nijimura’s forehead. “Okay, yeah, maybe it does,” he snapped at last. “You’re a great captain, Akashi. I know that. That’s a fact. You won the Interhigh. I chose you to succeed me. I know how dedicated you are.” 

“Then why do you insist on being apathetic — ”

“I was hoping I could see an Akashi similar to the one I left behind at Teikou. That Akashi was a great captain. But he was a great person, too. You’ve changed, Akashi. And I can’t say it’s for the better.”

They glared at one another, the table between them acting like a fort in a battlefield. 

“I could say the same for you, senpai,” said Akashi, voice even but bursting at the seams with unconcealed anger. “You only play basketball ‘for fun’. You have clearly wasted your talent.”

“There are other things more important than basketball.” 

“I refuse to waste my time on those ‘things’. I refuse to abandon my duties as captain, senpai.” _I refuse to end up like you,_ remained unspoken. Still, the statement hovered between them like a plume of black cigarette smoke.

The waiter came with Akashi’s tofu soup and Nijimura’s fried rice. They ate in silence. After fifteen minutes, Akashi paid the bill and they left the restaurant. The walk after that seemed longer than it was. They were heading back to Akashi’s house. Doing anything else was pointless.

The sun on his skin reminded Akashi of that earlier warmth. Wrapped around his elbow, snug like clouds around a chill moon. He couldn’t believe that the sensation was so vivid in his mind, when he still felt the prickles of anger thrumming beneath his skin.

They reached Akashi’s front door. Akashi was about to unlock it when Nijimura cleared his throat. Raising his eyebrows, Akashi turned to face him.

Nijimura ran his fingers through his hair. “...Okay, look. It’s like this. Meeting you again after so long...I guess it threw me.” He looked Akashi directly in the eye. “I assumed you’d be like how you were back in Teikou. But of course you would have changed. The one predictable constant about the passage of time is that change happens.”   

“It was my mistake.” Such a sentence coming out so easily from Nijimura’s mouth made Akashi falter where he stood. “I’ll try to understand how you are now, even if I think you’ve gone completely nuts over basketball,” Nijimura continued. “That’s why I’m here after all. To see how all of you brats are doing now. No matter how much you all have changed.” 

In reply, Akashi only nodded. He turned back to face the front door. He already knew Nijimura had been the one at fault. Throughout the walk home, he had come to a decision. He would persuade Nijimura to return wholeheartedly to basketball. Merely playing it ‘for fun, occasionally’ was an insult. To Nijimura’s talent, and to Akashi himself. Akashi would correct Nijimura’s current deficiencies. He would return Nijimura to the person he used to respect. 

Suddenly, Akashi felt a warmth behind him. His eyes widened. As he turned his body halfway round, the warmth swathed his whole body. Nijimura was giving him a one-armed hug.

“I’m really glad I came here to Kyoto to see you, Akashi.” Nijimura’s breath tickled his ear. That breath, and Nijimura’s warmth, penetrated through Akashi’s whole body like a spark from a flare plummeting through an ocean’s bottomless depths. Nijimura’s scent, musty with a tinge of cologne, was the only thing he could smell.

After a few moments, Nijimura withdrew from him. Akashi felt cold all of a sudden, even though a thin layer of sweat had already coated his skin in the summer’s heat. Nijimura then quirked a smirk. Akashi smiled back at him.  

He definitely was going to go all out. He would help Nijimura return to the person he used to be.


	3. Chapter 3

Akashi approached most things in life with full-minded purpose and intention to achieve success at the utmost level. To that end, he began his plan to return Nijimura-senpai to how he had used to be, with an exercise that always ensured he was at top mental condition to strategize: a game of shogi against himself.

He had laid out the pieces neatly. The strategy was a good one. It had every certainty of success. Except — “Akashi! There you are.”

Nijimura was thoroughly unpredictable, Emperor’s Eye or not. Akashi could not begrudge him for that, though. It had made him an amazing basketball player. 

“You’re such a shogi nerd.” Nijimura brushed his hand lightly over Akashi’s hair as he moved to sit across from Akashi. It was just like senpai to do such a gesture— casual, unthinking, friendly, thoroughly ignorant of the rude tug it caused within Akashi’s chest. 

Nijimura peered at the board curiously, opposite Akashi. “Remember how we used to play, back at Teikou?” He glanced at Akashi, fond quirk in his lips.

Akashi could not help the curve upwards in his own lips as he responded. “I wouldn’t call that playing shogi, senpai. Precisely 2 minutes into the game, you always gave up.”

Nijimura reached over and flicked Akashi in the forehead. This time, Akashi stiffened and made sure not to reel back, to respond, to that touch. As it were, he sat there with a thoroughly blank, expressionless face as the red spot bloomed on his forehead.

“Do I need to remind you how to treat your senpai again, Akashi?” Nijimura looked amusedly at Akashi. “2 minutes is impressive, you know.”

Akashi felt the thoroughly foreign sensation of hesitancy as he tentatively began his plan. He hated all this uncertainty. But he always knew it would be a challenge. There were too many variables, and there was senpai’s tendency to be unpredictable. Especially now that he had changed over the years, and there were too many things Akashi did not know about him.

“Senpai,” Akashi began, schooling his voice into calmness, to hide the nervousness that came whenever he set forth a plan without a 100% chance of success. “Would you like to—” the rest of his words were cut off, and the nascent invite to play a one-on-one with Nijimura died a lonely death. 

Nijimura had caught sight of Akashi’s Interhigh championship medal, hanging over some hidden corner of the room. Akashi never celebrated his victories. There was no need to celebrate a state of being that was naturally unequivocal, after all. 

“Ah, that’s right, tell me about your team. The Interhigh champions, Rakuzan,” Nijimura picked up a fuhyo (pawn), and started throwing it up, and catching it again. Akashi could not help but be drawn to the motion, staring at the piece in its almost-infinite loop to and from senpai’s hand. 

And of all pieces, the fuhyo, too. The most insignificant piece. It didn’t matter, however. Akashi knew how to use even the most useless of pieces, and transform futility into devastation. “My team is...satisfactory. They still have a long way to go.”

Nijimura raised his eyebrows. “Not like Teikou, I guess?” The look in his eyes was all wry humour, but Akashi could see the stiffness in his shoulders, in his demeanour, that told him that something about that time still affected him, somehow. It made Akashi frustrated, and angry, all of a sudden. Senpai was being foolish, trying to move on from a time that he had been someone, when he was no one now.

Akashi became impatient. “Senpai,” he said, reaching over to grab the shogi piece, cutting short its airborne return to Nijimura’s hand. “Why are you asking me all this? I thought you weren’t interested in basketball anymore.” You are only interested in it for fun, after all, Akashi had to bite back the words. They would have disgusted him.

Nijimura frowned. “I’m trying to find out how you’re doing, Akashi. Geez, you’ve become quite the prissy one, haven’t you?”

Akashi had to physically restrain his jaw from falling open. Senpai had just called him prissy. The disbelief almost clouded his mind. But he quickly brushed the mental fog away, calculated, and took the opportunity as it came.

“If you are that curious, senpai, why don’t you join us in a training session.” Akashi had to get senpai on a basketball court, in an environment that was sort-of Teikou, all competition. It was imperative, as part of his plan. And, insignificant as his team was, they could become tools in his greater plan.

Nijimura stood up. He approached Akashi, slowly. Akashi had always prided his ability to stare someone down, to intimidate them. But somehow, he could not look at senpai in the eyes. It made his stomach do a thoroughly worrying, unusual squirm. It made his throat feel oddly dry.

“Tell you what, Akashi.” The clap on his shoulder made Akashi’s heart jerk in his chest. He did not dare look up. “I’m not really in the mood to train in basketball. Let’s have a sparring session, instead. I’ll teach you some karate.”

At that, Akashi had to look up. Nijimura’s grey eyes were challenging, but the wry amusement was still there. Right then, Akashi’s stomach started acting up all sorts of abnormal behaviour.

“I’ll meet you in your ridiculously large private gym.” 

Nijimura left Akashi, staring at the haphazard arrangement of a ruined shogi strategy. A shogi strategy ruined not by incompetence, but by the utter unpredictability of an opponent Akashi now felt he barely knew. 

For the first time in his life, Akashi felt at a loss. He did not know what to expect.

***

“Senpai, this is pointless.”

Nijimura hid a smile as he watched Akashi perform yet another stance, imitating Nijimura.

“Learning this is not going to provide any practical use for basketball. Physical superiority is something that is born from birth.” Even in his imitation of Nijimura, Akashi was, still Akashi. Every stance was flawlessly done. He looked as though he had been doing karate since birth.

“Even if I were to train in karate and gain more strength, it would be fundamentally ineffectual against a physically superior basketball player.” Nijimura was equal parts impressed and irritated at how perfect every move was. How fluid, precise, and accurate, as though all the weight of karate’s illustrious history was in his movements.

“Instead, I should be focusing on developing the capabilities I already have, and gain the competitive advantage that way. I —” However, impressive or not, he was talking way too much. Nijimura cut Akashi off by leaning into his space, correcting his stance.

Nijimura felt a burst of grim amusement as he successfully rendered Akashi Seijurou speechless. The brat was always too much about pretty words and overdramatic statements, anyway. And agitating Akashi had become somewhat of a not-so-private source of amusement for him.

Nijimura never expected that out of all the most troublesome brats he used to captain, that the biggest basketball idiot of them all would be Akashi Seijurou. Even now, the brat was still going on (and on) about basketball. 

Seeing such drive and motivation within Akashi towards something that Nijimura used to love so wholeheartedly made Nijimura feel an oddly conflicting, oddly confusing mix of guilt, frustration, disappointment and pride. 

And the stifling, drowning sensation of having to instinctively stamp down on those feelings because Nijimura was supposed to have moved on, and supposed to have changed. 

But guilt crept in sinisterly, whenever Akashi talked about the duties of a real captain. Frustration and disappointment burned corrosively, whenever Nijimura longed for a time long past; when there were things now more important than the glory days of being a basketball star. And weirdly, pride towards Akashi, for having upheld all Nijimura had not been able to.

Yet worry, too, snuck its way in. Nijimura could not shake off the odd feeling that came over him whenever Akashi droned yet again about Rakuzan, and his role within it. It felt wrong, somehow, even though Nijimura understood Akashi’s reasoning, completely and comprehensively. They had both been at Teikou, after all. And they had both captained, at Teikou, after all.

But Nijimura stomped all over those feelings, stubbornly. He had changed, and Akashi had changed. There was no need to get all complicated about it. All Nijimura had to do was accept it as a reality, entrenched in the flow of time, and get over it.

He tapped Akashi on the shoulder. As Akashi turned towards him, he quirked a challenging smile.

“Ready to spar, Akashi?”

Nijimura watched Akashi pause. He watched his eyebrows, delicate and sophisticated, furrow. Then he watched his eyes, and the flare of competition burn within them. Nijimura had not closely observed his kohai at the peak of their domination in the middle school basketball circuit, but he could not miss the flash of the Miracles in his eyes. The flash of what had made his kohai surpass him, so blazingly fast, climbing a remote precipice of talent Nijimura could never even hope to reach.

The curve in Akashi’s lips was a chilly reminder of why Nijimura had chosen him as his successor, amongst all the other predators at Teikou. “May the best practitioner win.” 

“Wait—” but Nijimura was cut off as he had to dodge Akashi’s immediate, swift, ruthless, kick to his face. Ducking under Akashi’s leg, and pivoting towards Akashi’s exposed back, he only managed a brief touch on his shoulder before Akashi was making him block a series of fast, furious strikes.

Damn perfect kohai, Nijimura grumbled in his thoughts as he avoided a complicated sequence of karate kicks and punches that should have taken at least a month to master. 

“Akashi, wait—” Nijimura’s breath came out in pants as he was forced to block, again and again, Akashi’s relentless assault.

“Damn it!” Disregarding all kumite (sparring) rules, Nijimura swept a leg under Akashi’s own, knocking him over. Just at that moment, Akashi aimed a strike at Nijimura, and their legs tangled together. 

The resounding crash was the only thing Nijimura heard before a sharp pain started to blossom around his back. Then he blinked, and Akashi’s face was hovering right above his own. Akashi’s gaze was intent, with triumph glittering in the intriguing pinpricks of his eyes.

“Senpai, I win.” The chilly curve was back on Akashi’s lips as Nijimura realized the position they were in. Akashi was on top of him. Nijimura could not help staring at those lips again. That infuriating smile, and that quirk that made Nijimura want to wipe it off his face. 

Their breaths were coming out in stops and pants, mingling gently in the small distance between their faces. Nijimura could see a bead of sweat making its way down the side of Akashi’s face, highlighting the refined contours of his cheekbones, and his jawline. 

Nijimura swallowed, and saw Akashi’s gaze snap to the movement in his throat. He saw Akashi’s tongue flick out, quickly dampening his lips, and felt himself do the same. Nijimura could not hear anything but Akashi’s breath, and his own, the pace starting to slow, and even out. All he could see, and sense, was Akashi.

Then, abruptly, Nijimura realized Akashi’s hand placed purposefully at his neck — a winning strike in any kumite ruling.

But that had not been what Nijimura had suggested the spar session for. 

Suddenly, that odd sensation was gone. Nijimura blinked, found himself where he was again, and frowned.

He whacked Akashi on the head. “Idiot!”

Nijimura wished, at that moment, that he could have recorded the expression on Akashi’s face, as he registered what Nijimura had just dared to do. Nijimura could not help a small smile spreading across his face, exasperated as he was.

“Senpai,” Akashi said calmly, or as calmly as he could while still hovering over Nijimura. His breath puffed over Nijimura’s lips, a gentle caress. “That was entirely unwarranted. I won.”

“That was not what I wanted the sparring session for, idiot! There wasn’t supposed to be any winner,” Nijimura was beginning to feel uncomfortable, through his irritation. He was beginning to feel it again, that odd sensation where it seemed that Akashi and him were the only two people in the world.

Akashi stood up, composedly. He peered down at Nijimura, and frowned. That was as confused as Akashi Seijurou could look — he merely looked mildly affronted. The rush of cold air was brisk and sudden, as Akashi’s near proximity left Nijimura. He felt like he could breathe properly, again.

“Then what is the point, if there is no winner?” Akashi just watched as Nijimura got up. Nijimura’s breathing was even again, and his heart was not pounding as hard, anymore.

“The point is to have fun learning something new, dumbass. Other than basketball.” Nijimura crossed his arms and glared at Akashi. That earlier odd sensation that had been so dominant in Nijimura’s mind was just a distant memory, now. The confusing, conflicted mess of guilt, worry, frustration, were the only feelings churning in Nijimura’s chest.

“That is not how I see it, senpai.” Akashi had turned away, and was walking out. “The fact is, I won.”

The empty gym felt more ridiculously large, without Akashi in it. And Nijimura’s failures — in basketball, in being captain, in leading his kohai — felt all the more heavier, within it.


	4. Chapter 4

When Nijimura walked out of the gym, he found himself lost. Wonderful, he thought. First a giant-ass gym. Now, a giant-ass corridor. He sighed, and walked down those too-long corridors with too-soft carpets. Just about everything in Akashi’s house was in the extremes, it seemed.

Nijimura found Akashi in his room, reading. Machiavelli’s ‘The Prince’. Nijimura very nearly rolled his eyes. Of course Akashi would be reading that book. He really had changed since Teikou. Nijimura couldn’t help thinking it had been his fault. His failure to lead, at Teikou, that made Akashi end up this way. Regardless, it was up to Nijimura now, to show that everything he had taught to Akashi in Teikou was wrong.

“Akashi,” said Nijimura, striding into Akashi’s room. “Everything I taught you back in Teikou is wrong.” He winced. Damn. He was too blunt for his own good. 

Akashi looked up from the book. “I beg your pardon?”

Clearing his throat, Nijimura said, “Look. I have to say this. I don’t like the way you’re overly focused on winning.”

Akashi’s eyes narrowed. Closing the book, he stated, “It isn’t any of my concern whether you like it or dislike it. The fact is that winning matters. History only remembers the winners, not the losers.” Akashi lifted the book and tapped the cover. “In war, winners prosper. Defeat equals death.”

“That’s in war, Akashi,” replied Nijimura, rolling his eyes. “We’re talking in basketball context here.”

“I fail to see any distinction. Victory is evident in both.”

“You can’t just look at things in absolute terms like that. Obviously the stakes are higher in war.”

“That is irrelevant. Victory is victory, regardless of the stakes.”

“Argh!” Nijimura’s fingers ran through his hair. “This is going nowhere.” He walked to Akashi’s bed and sat on it. He patted the spot opposite him.

“Come on, Akashi. Let’s play a game.”

Akashi raised an eyebrow, but moved to sit opposite Nijimura. On the bed, Nijimura could see, very clearly, a few strands of Akashi’s red hair sticking to his forehead. He could see the slope of his neck, refined like the rest of him, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing. 

Nijimura looked away from Akashi, clearing his throat. Certainly, the inherent magnetism of Akashi Seijuurou was part of why he made a good captain. 

“Let’s play ‘Chopsticks’,” said Nijimura.

Akashi’s eyebrows rose higher. “‘Chopsticks’?” he repeated, like the word insulted him.

“Yeah. I play it with my siblings all the time. It’s really easy.” Nijimura lifted both hands, one finger extended on each hand. “The way we play is like this. We take turns to tap each other’s hands. With each tap, you extend the number of fingers of the hand that tapped it. The aim of the game is to make the other person extend all fingers.”

“And how would one win at ‘Chopsticks’?” Again, he emphasised the word.

Nijimura sighed. “That doesn’t matter, Akashi. But if you must know, it’s once you’ve made the other person extend all their fingers.”

“Alright.” Akashi nodded. “Then we can begin.”

Several minutes of silence passed. They tapped each other’s hands regularly. Eventually, it reached a point where Nijimura had only one hand out, four fingers extended. Akashi had three fingers on both hands.

Since it was Akashi’s turn, he tapped Nijimura’s hand. He smiled, looking up at Nijimura’s face. “Senpai. I win.”

Nijimura was unfazed. He nodded, then extended two forefingers out. “Let’s play again.”

Akashi blinked, once. “Again? Senpai. I have already won.”

“Yeah. Let’s just play again, alright?”

Frowning, Akashi nevertheless complied. A few minutes later, Akashi won. He put his hands down. “Senpai, I win again— ”

“Let’s play again.”

Silence. Then Akashi’s eyes narrowed. “Senpai. Do you think me a fool? I know what you’re doing. You can stop this pointless exercise.”

Akashi’s chill tones cast the room in a sudden tension. Like the walls were shrinking, slowly transforming into a box, or a small coffin. Nijimura didn’t care about that. He met Akashi’s gaze unflinchingly. 

“You know what I’m doing,” Nijimura repeated. “Good. Then you see my perspective. Winning at a game like this is useless. Would you still think of victory in absolute terms?”

“Without victory there wouldn’t be any reason for the game to exist. No matter how inane it is.”

“Akashi, the game exists because it’s fun. That’s why we can keep playing it, over and over. It doesn’t matter who has won before.”

“Which is why the game has a pointless existence.”

“You can’t really say it’s pointless.” A smirk played on Nijimura’s lips. “I use the game to get my siblings to quiet down. It’s really effective. It’s also a form of family bonding. You can’t argue with that, right?” Nijimura placed a hand on Akashi’s shoulder. “What about you? What do you play basketball for, Akashi?”

His voice dropped as he asked the question. The quiet tones filtered through the room like a bar of classical music. Specifically the beginning of Beethoven’s ‘Fifth Symphony’, Akashi thought. Bold and memorable. Straightforward. Only Nijimura-senpai would ask something like that. His hand was warm.

To Nijimura, it seemed like Akashi was silent for a long while. His eyes were cast downwards in contemplation. Every lash contrasting against the paleness of his cheek. Nijimura kept his eyes on them.

Then, Akashi spoke. “I play it because it’s...there, senpai.” He looked up, meeting Nijimura’s gaze. “And victory is imperative in basketball. So I strive to achieve it. Just like Teikou taught us.”

A sigh escaped from Nijimura’s lips. He brought his hand behind Akashi’s neck, then pulled him forward into a hug. Where he was, Akashi’s hair tickled Nijimura’s cheek. His hand still on Akashi’s neck, Nijimura could feel Akashi’s pulse with his thumb. A steady, regular rhythm, bumping against his thumb almost intimately. His lips were so close to Akashi’s ear. The nearness made the moment something special, like sharing a secret only the two of them knew. 

“Don’t worry if you don’t have an answer to the question, Akashi. It was hard for me, too, to discover meaning after Teikou. It took a lot of things to happen before I found it.” He pulled back to smile at Akashi. “Before I found meaning beyond victory. Beyond responsibility and the pure necessity to lead. You’ll find it too, I’m sure.” His hand remained on Akashi’s neck, fingers slightly buried in his hair.

Akashi was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I can’t pretend to understand your words, senpai. But, strangely, I feel a need to say this. Thank you.” He raised a hand, and touched Nijimura’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments would be very lovely! =)


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